


Saturday afternoon with the fox

by Doug48



Series: Zoo 1.1 [3]
Category: Good Will Hunting (1997), Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Gen, No Smut, Slice of Life, University, canon compliant mostly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 10:18:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doug48/pseuds/Doug48
Summary: In a previous story, I implied that Nick Wilde was doing something he didn't like while Judy was searching Mr. Manchas' limo. Nobody asked for it [the first chapter anyway], but these are stories about what Nick may or may not have been doing that afternoon. Heavily influenced by "Good Will Hunting."





	1. Version 1

“I wonder how Judy’s doing?”

I’m talking to myself, I know, but I can’t help it. Staring out the window at the plaza is so boring! It’s this or math equations on the dry erase board again, and doesn’t that get old? Besides, it’s hard to stop after I get started because I have to get them out of my head.

Mueller wasn’t even here today, so how would he even know if -

“Hey, fox! What’re you doing here?” 

The voice is unfamiliar. Young. Male. Confident. Probably 20-30 feet behind me, so probably at or near the open door. No doppler effect, so he’s not moving. No scent yet, but if he’s posturing this way, there must be others to see and listen. Other than me. Probably females his age or younger? I can’t tell his ancestry, but it’s 99% certainly prey. 

In the great city of Zootopia, they say anyone can be anything, but here at Zoo U, predators are janitors or grounds keepers, not teachers or students. Except for me and a very few others. 

“I’m talking to you!” 

Same voice again, a little closer, but not much. Just louder. Other voices, whispering, and some hooves and paw pads on carpet. Probably half a dozen mammals. 

So, I turn around and look at them. Half a dozen herbivores. Ram by the door, across the table in front of me. The others are deer, rabbit, and a squirrel. All students, based on clothes, which are very comfortable today because it’s Saturday afternoon. Although, I expect they dress this way more or less all the time. I know I dress the same way more or less all the time. 

They see a table in the middle of the room, chairs of different sizes, computer, dry erase board, another door to their right, windows, and a fox standing by one of the windows. A fox with a tie, slacks, and shirt. They certainly don’t think they see a peer or a professor or even a teacher’s assistant. 

“Better get lost before Dr. Mueller’s friend shows up. The dean will get you fired for sure in that case!” It’s the ram, and he’s pointing at me with a hoof. The others are spreading out, but keeping the table between me and them. They shuffle nervously because they really don’t know why I’m still standing here. 

Why am I still standing here? I shrug and walk over to the nearest of the two doors. Out in the hall, I turn right, walk 15 feet, and then turn right again, to re-enter the room behind the ram. 

“Students? Good afternoon. You can call me Dr. Wilde. Please take your seats,” I suggest as if nothing odd was going on. Never let them see they get to you, after all. 

They stare at me, so I ignore them and walk over near where I had been before, but now I’m nearer the computer input output equipment, and further from the window. They all smell uncertain and look confused, but they’re not afraid. Any ancestors of mine, in a situation like this, would have reacted differently, and their ancestors would have tried to escape.

“Seats?” I suggest, and finally, they sit. Even the ram, but his body language is closed and he keeps his head down more than the others. They're more curious than anything else. 

“I have been asked to come to this room at this time on this day, presumably to lend you my wisdom, prior to your presentation. I expected to see your professor as well, but something I said last time may have annoyed him. This is apparently my penance,” I say, and one of them raises her hand. 

“Where did you….” The rabbit doe starts to say, but trails off. She doesn’t seem to know how to ask where I got my degree or why I think they should treat me as if I have the slightest knowledge of anything important. One would think I had claimed to be the first non-rabbit leader of Bunnyborrow or something equally ridiculous. I’ve been asked this question before, many times, in this very building, so I give her my #5 answer. 

“Where do I come from? Foxland. Everyone there is a fox, and we all dress like this, even the vixens.” 

Then I wait. Like I said, my penance, this afternoon, and every Saturday afternoon for that matter for the last several years, is one hour here from 1430 to 1530. On days like today, I just want to run out the clock and then leave these ivory tower trust fund prey mammals thinking some predator janitor was pulling their legs. 

“I think she meant, ‘where did you study?’” This from the squirrel. He wants to know the answer, so he’s trying to sugar coat things a bit by being more polite.

They haven’t bothered to introduce themselves. This could be a pred/prey thing or just a clueless youth thing. I didn’t know how to behave in this situation when I was that age, after all. Their professors all know who they are and new students are rare beyond freshman year, so introductions are not common. University can be very unlike the real world that way if you get over focused. Like this bunch. 

“I studied at home and I built something out of some parts I found. I showed it to some friends, who told some mammals, and then I was told how wonderful it was by some mammals in dark suits and sun glasses. Now I’m here, having been asked to pass along, if possible, some of that creative wisdom. Maybe one of you might benefit and then build something equally wonderful?” That’s what the suits said, anyway, right before explaining the penalties for anyone that finds out what, exactly, I built, and after helping my family and me move to a building without a massive hole in one wall.

The students are still doubtful, and I’ve still got time, so I move on to the next step in my Saturday quatrain. “You have a project to show me?”

The ram digs in his backpack, finds a flash drive, and tosses it on the table top. He does not try to hand it to me, and does not make eye contact. He then puts his backpack back on the floor with many of the others. His classmates stare at him, but he ignores them, and continues to look at the table and keep his arms crossed and ears back. 

I just stand where I am and wait. I’m older, so it’s easier for me to ignore the silence as long as I don’t think about math. They fidget until one of them grabs the thumb drive and plugs it into a USB input slot on the table. 

The screen lights as the CPU wakes up. It asks for a log in prompt as I stare at the screen. I cock my head slightly, and then hear one of them ask a question.

“Would you like one of us to log you in, fox?” It’s one of the deer, this one a buck, and he grins at his friends, waiting for me to ask them for help. I’d really rather not. 

“No, you’d probably screw it up,” I reply, in a normal tone of voice. Nothing happens because vulpines don’t talk that way to students here. The students know what they heard, but they don’t believe it, so they’re trying to convince themselves it did not happen. They’ll need time to think about it.

I don’t give them that time, but instead use the keyboard to log in. I could use Mueller’s log in because he always uses his birthday as his password. Foxes like me are sneaky and everyone thinks we do things like using other mammals’ passwords all the time, but this time I don’t. 

Then I manipulate the pointer to open the external memory, and am greeted by a list of alcoholic beverages. “So… which one is which?” I ask the table, and get no reply, so I start opening them, starting from the top and moving down the list, scanning, before moving on to the next and the next. Looks like Zooweiser is the one I’m looking for. I was kind of hoping for ‘boilermaker’ or possibly ‘old fashioned’, but one can’t have everything. 

“It’s a power plant? Coal fired? This doesn’t say what kind of coal, but I can see by your spreadsheets that the boilers can be had for a song. Interesting idea. Mammals are often trying to get some use out of those old piles of rust,” I tell them. “Anyone want to expound on why it’s worth any sort of investment by some venture capitalist you know? Maybe the parents of a friend?” 

I may have “sold” these same steam generating boilers a few times, myself. I’ve never owned them, but the buyers never knew that until they tried to take delivery. I always sold them for less than scrap metal value. 

The students are silent, but finally they settle the issue by a kind of facial expression judo, and the other deer, a doe, speaks up. “Ah, Dr. Wilde?” She does not lean forward much, but only enough to look more or less at me when she speaks. She seems very hesitant and slightly embarrassed. 

“Bathroom is down the hall, turn left,” I tell her, before I can stop myself. “Sorry. What would you like to know?” She’s using my honorary title, so I should be polite. One gets more flies with honey and all that. 

She’s confused, and not happy to be spokes mammal, but now she’s stuck. The others won’t talk because I’m looking at her, and she cares more about her class rank than they do, and they know it, so they’ll make her interact with the savage predator in the tacky shirt.

“Dr. Wilde? What is your area of expertise?” she asks. 

I don’t know what she’s expecting, but I give her the truth. “I hold honorary doctorates in several fields of engineering and physics. I got these in exchange for some demonstration time in the labs here and for my patents. Mostly the patents. I also get the opportunity to influence young minds, like yours, or the old minds of your professors, one hour per week, every Saturday afternoon. Sometimes I get to talk about math, science, or engineering instead of my own rather uninteresting history. Would I rather be somewhere else doing almost anything else? Yes, yes I would.”

They still seem uncertain, so I surf over to the University webpage and open an alphabetical list of honorary professors. There are many on that list. Mostly artists or politicians, but down at the bottom, there is one fox, who looks a great deal like a younger version of myself. I’m one of only three predators. 

“Well, look at the time. Almost up, so I’ll leave you with this. Hydrocarbon fuels like coal were abandoned decades ago in favor of nuclear power because of the effect of greenhouse gases and sulfur on that climate control equipment that makes our mammal utopia possible. Those coal fired boilers you propose to buy dirt cheap? They’re barely worth scrap metal because you’ll have to retrofit a freighter load of emission control equipment and use only the best coal, anthracite, to minimize the sulfur. That coal is heavy and only mined far away from here and transport for that much mass is not going to be cheap. As for the greenhouse gases?” I shrug. “Eliminating the sulfur is the easy part.” 

They look a little stunned, again, so I add, “I’ll let you decide how you want to spin that for your presentation on Monday. I can see you spent a serious chunk of your semester on it. Maybe next time, you might try to think of something useful, like a better way to dispose of spent uranium fuel rods.” 

“As they say in Foxland, ‘Vescere bracis meis,’” I tell them and log off the computer. 

Then I walk toward, and through, the open door they came in, and turn right, with no intention of stopping. However, I hear rapid hoofs on carpet behind me, so I stop and see the doe. 

“Yes?” I ask, pulling out my smartphone and looking at the time display. 

“Do you really think the project will fail?” She asks. “We’re going to fail?” 

I can smell how afraid she is, so I put away my phone, and try to be re-assuring. “Don’t worry about it so much. This is a university and so it’s the best place to screw up, if you’re going to do it. Try to look like you learned a valuable lesson when they tell you the reasons why it won’t work. I’m sure you’ve seen the way your professors like to see you look like you’ve learned something important.”

Then I walk away, past Dr. Mueller’s dark office, out the door to the outside, across the plaza, and away from this place where I do not belong. Maybe I won’t come back next week. Maybe I’ll find something better to do….


	2. Version 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another version of Nick at the University, interacting with students.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written before the previous one. I tend to go back and forth about how bitter Nick would be about the way he gets treated by prey in general, and this was him not being as bitter.

I wondered what would happen if I just told them I didn’t feel like talking next time, and so here I am. Staring out a window and waiting for some engineering graduate students to arrive at room 409 Carrier Hall, University of Zootopia, in the great City of Zootopia. I do this every Saturday, but I usually entertain professors. 

I put my paw on the glass and feel the warmth of the sun. I still don’t understand why the glass and the floor inside the room are heated by the sun’s radiation. Shouldn’t the glass intercept all the heat instead of just part of it? I mean, I know how it works and all that different wavelengths stuff, but it just seems odd-

“Hey Fox. What are you doing here?“ It's a male voice behind me, not close, so probably the speaker is near the doorway. 

It takes me a few seconds to realize he’s talking to me. Silly, I know, because there aren’t many foxes here at Zoo U. “Standing by this window,“ I reply, not turning around.

“You better get lost before one of the professors catches you in here goofing off! Empty the trashcan while you’re here, right? “

Now I turn around so I can see him. It’s one of the students, this one a sheep, and I can see that the other students are entering the room as well. The ram is harassing me to enhance his group status. They see a fox in a tie with his shirt tucked in. Probably about three decades old. They're all closer to two. 

“The professor isn’t coming in here,” I tell the group. 

The ram now looks a little uncertain. I was supposed to grab the trashcan and scurry out the door like the janitor he thinks I am. I don’t know how or why he thinks the janitor would be here in this room at 2 PM however. The cleaning crew typically gets done around 6 AM as I very well know. I used to have that job.

“It’s your turn. I replied with disinterest to your attempted verbal sally. Now you have to ‘put me in my place’ or lose status in front of your associates.” I gesture at the other members of the class. “Or you could just sit down and pretend nothing happened.” He’s young and so he’s not sure what to do next. I wait.

“Just sit down Billy.” This from one of the rabbits, and I now know one of their names. Last week, I was just given a room number, a time, 2 PM, and a CAD drawing.

Billy sat in a chair by the table in the middle of the room, so I put the drawing on the table. “Can anyone tell me what this is?”

They looked at me like I was crazy or at least like I had asked a stupid question.

“That’s our project. Where did you get that?” Billy again.

“I got it from Dr. Cooper. Your professor, I expect? He gave me this, and asked me to come here now. Here I am.”

“Dr. Cooper told us we were going to have some help from a friend of his. He wasn’t smiling when he said it, but he never does.” The bunny again. Her voice trailed off. They were all looking uncertain.

They knew I wasn’t a janitor, but they couldn’t figure out who or what I might be. I did not look exactly like a professor, and I’m a predator. I can’t help being a fox, and I’ve always dressed more or less like this. It is Saturday, however, and most students are in shorts and T-shirts. They’re all prey mammals.

I suppose I should be nice to them. They’ve obviously worked hard on this project, and it doesn’t look bad, actually. A few problems, but not many.

“You may call me Dr. Wilde. No, I did not study here. Yes, I am a fox. Yes, Dr. Cooper sent me. I don’t know if it was a joke, but I do know that I had recently told him what I thought about his inherent relativity theory.”

Most of the students looked blank. One or two looked thoughtful, and the bunny looked alarmed.

“Miss,” I said, pointing at her, “what is your name?”

“Bo, sir. Bo Peep,” she replied. 

I wait for the laughter, but there was none. Not even from Billy, the sheep.

“Okay, Ms. Peep, what do you think of inherent relativity?”

“I-“, she stopped.

“Yes? This is a university. You’re supposed to think. You’re supposed to question. It won’t help your grades to criticize your professor, but it might help you get ahead in the real world if you’re willing to think outside the box. Also, your professor isn’t here and I am.” Of course, I’m not going to try to explain why that last part shouldn’t make a difference. I'll let her figure that out for herself. 

“I think it’s wrong. Because of the name. Relativity is not inherent,” she answered, eventually. She kept her head down the way that some female rabbits do. They're not really supposed to go to a University, after all. They're all supposed to be farmers or farmers' wives. This one, apparently, wants to be an engineer. 

“Oh,” I reply. “I’ll have to tell him that next time I see him.”

She looks alarmed, so I continue. “He’ll assume I came up with that nugget. If he doesn’t, I’ll just blame Billy. Dr. Cooper will know that’s ridiculous.” Most of them laughed.

Billy flushed, but said nothing. I thought about egging him on some more, but he looked emotionally fragile, so I didn’t push him further. I’m 32, so I'm practically an old mamal, and Billy probably doesn’t realize I’m going easy on him. If he wants to advance in his career, he needs to know how to react to this sort of thing from coworkers and competitors. 

“So. Your drawing? Please trace the flow of heat. Not you, Miss Bo peep. You,” I gesture to another of the rabbit students. “Name?”

“Yes,” she replied. And that was all she said. 

“Okay ‘yes’, be that way. Trace the flow of heat.”

She walked over to the table, picked up a pencil, and used the eraser to indicate a path from the boilers through the mechanisms, and then out to the river.

“How hot is that exit water?”

“300 K?” She asked. She looked confident, but I knew she was wrong. 

“Try again,” I told her.

“400?” She said, and there was a slight quiver to her voice and her ears were no longer all the way up. 

“If you don’t know, please just admit it. I will not fail you or tell Cooper which of you had no clue. He told me to help, and I will. It’s going into the river, so it had better be plain old water and not steam. Water at 400 is above boiling, as you know, “ I told them. Or anyway, they should know by now. I gestured at the drawing. “This condenser is here, so…”

We talked about it for a while, probably an hour or two. I lost track of time as I watched these eager young minds grapple with the problems. They were making marks ion the diagram to fill in later, and I could see which ones are leaders and which ones are not. They are so much like my own classmates, all of whom were predators. 

“Students. Please stop bothering Dr. Wilde," Dr. Cooper said. Then he pointed at me. "My office.”

The good doctor is now looking at me like he’d very much like to put a TAME collar on me the way the City used to do to predators like me. He’s not one of my biggest fans, but at least he gave me the honorary title this time. No sense confusing the students. 

I nod to the students, and most of them wave or nod back. Mostly they are arguing about the regulatory requirements for water discharge into this particular river, so the ones that don’t acknowledge me might be excused for that reason. Or they might dislike my predator kind on general principle. The ones that didn’t wave were the same ones that were careful not to interact with me this morning. Billy nodded, this made me feel a little better actually.

Dr. Cooper was already striding down the hall as I left the room, and I didn’t try very hard to catch up. He’s a male deer, a buck, actually, so his legs are longer than mine. I find him waiting impatiently in his office.

“Wilde, just what the hell are you still doing here?” He asked in his usual way. He was sitting behind his desk and leaning forward, glaring. 

“I forgot about the time limit and I figured it was at my discretion anyway. I wrote most of the contract, after all. And aren’t you supposed to call me doctor, doctor?” I ask. 

“I don’t care what the Dean says about what you did or did not do to ‘earn’ that doctorate and what the University may or may not have gotten out of the deal. I’ve got tenure and he can’t make me treat a predator as my equal-“

He went on like this for a time and I tuned him out after the first few words. I’ve heard it all many times before, after all. 

Eventually, he noticed I wasn't paying any attention. “Are you even listening to me?” 

“Not really,” I replied. I know he’s used to being able to bully students. Also, I can smell the grad student he had in here recently, and smell what they were doing on that sofa of his, so I don’t much care what he thinks of me. 

“Get out of my sight!” He shouted, so I left.


	3. Version 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Or maybe this is the way that appointment went.

The half dozen students had been told to expect to see a technical assistant, or possibly a business associate, of Dr. Mueller. He is the department head, and nobody ever forgets it.

They entered the room and saw two windows, a table, six chairs, a smart wall touch screen computer, and a fox near one of the windows. The fox was older than the students, but dressed in a similar style. His shirt was untucked and he wore a tie that was loose.

”Hey you, what are you doing here?“ A ram named Doug asked. He knew his name was fairly common among his species, and tended to try harder to be noticed as a result.

If the vulpine heard the ungulate, he gave little or no sign. One ear twitched, but he continued to stare out the window.

Doug grinned at his fellow students, and received various replies. One grinned back, two scowled, and two ignored him. They were all prey-mammals, half were male and half female. 22 or 23 years of age, and all tended to think of hardship as a rainy day with no close parking spaces.

“I said-“

“Is it not evident what I’m doing?” Now the fox turned and they noticed his green eyes and the sunglasses in one pocket. ”Have a seat, all of you,“ the fox continued, and most of the students sat immediately. They were accustomed to being told what to do by upperclassmen teacher’s aides, and sometimes by younger professors not much older than this mammal. The fact that he was a predator might have been a problem under other circumstances.

“Please call me Doctor Wilde,“ the fox said. Now the students noticed his unique inner-city accent and the way he said ‘doctor’ as if he were talking about something unpleasant. Or the way some teachers said the word ‘student’. There was no love lost there.

Doug had remained standing longer than the others, but finally gave up and sat when this Dr. Wilde guy ignored him. Now Doug said, “Where did you earn your PhD? “

“Not here,“ came the reply.

Most of the students were coming to the conclusion that the fox was some sort of industry expert, possibly a headhunter for one of the larger firms? But that didn’t make sense because he was a carnivore, not a herbivore. They had few predator classmates and were not sure how to behave. The fox smelled their uncertainty, but was not very interested in making things much easier.

“So. I was told you had a project? That I should have a look and critique?“

The students looked at each other, and then one took out a flash drive and put it on the table, near where he sat. The fox waited until one of the other students picked it up and plugged it into the computer. The smart wall came live and displayed a query “ID? “

The fox had not logged in when he arrived and had expected a paper copy of the plans. He liked paper. There was never any need to get a special device to view it. One could just look at it. Maybe after unfolding, maybe not. One never needed to remember a password or check the charge level. 

Doug was smirking now, waiting for the fox to ask how to login. He had seen many of his professors with a similar problem. Rapid, and easy, input output devices were only recently, within the last 10 years, becoming common enough for routine use. They had been around far longer, of course, but usage had been restricted.

The fox did not ask for help. He walked to the smart wall, and tapped an icon with a blunt claw. Nobody flinched when he did this, but that could have been because they were unfamiliar with the sound of claws, typing. A keyboard came live, and the fox tapped rapidly, moving only his fingers and making only claw to screen contact. It sounded somewhat like hail, and he now had the students undivided attention as the screen cleared and the fox tapped the external drive icon to bring it live.

Several folders enlarged for viewing, and one apparently caught his eye.

“Yeager Meister?“ The fox asked, turning around.

One of the ewes, Judy, scowled at one of the rams, who looked away. “That’s it, “ she said.

The fox tapped the icon, and a schematic unfolded. “Ah,“ he said, and stared at it.

Silence stretched, and the vulpine said nothing more. ”Do you have any, questions? For us?“ Judy said. Professors were not usually this quiet, and they always had comments, even when they did not know what they were talking about.

“Coal as fuel, I assume?“ The fox asked. He tapped one of the input files. “Paper mill?“ Tapping another input, this one labeled ‘woodchips’.

“Yes, that’s right. We were asked for an alternative fuel. Alternative to nuclear, that is. Coal has a higher BTU than wood, after all,“ Judy said.

If the fox was insulted by them not calling him ‘sir’ as they call the other professors, he gave little sign. “Acid rain?“ The fox asked.

The students all looked at each other a moment. Then one said, “Bobby was in charge of looking at negative impacts. Bobby? “

Bobby spoke up now. Hesitant at first, but with growing confidence. ”Yes, yes. Possible. Coal of various types have more or less sulfur. We will recommend the low sulfur type, of course. We-“

“Have you included the cost of fuel transport? I am sure you have a cost benefit analysis?“ Now the fox was back at the smart wall scrolling through more files named after various types of alcoholic beverages.

“Mudweiser?” The fox wondered out loud and opened the file. “Right.“ He found himself looking at a spreadsheet.

The students stared, and did not speak.

“Come on. You need to do better than that. You have to be ready to make proposals like this professionally one day. Do not be afraid to fill the silence, as long as you are not being untruthful. Talk about your pet fish, if you like. I would prefer you talk about the project, and explain pros and cons because I’m not a client. I can help you if I know the parameters.”

Again they all looked at each other, and this time, it was Doug that spoke up. “As you can see, we assumed cost X and Y distance. Just guesses because we don’t know where the new power plant will be located.”

“Why not say in Zootopia, just to give yourselves a point of reference? Or in the Apple mountains near that coal you were talking about? Location near the fuel decreases cost of transport, after all. Need to be able to answer questions like that, or include such things in your closing statements if no one asks and the time is up. Try not to let them know that you actually don’t know something when you’re trying to sell it,” the fox suggested.

The students were still uncomfortable, but now not as much. They had nearly forgotten they were talking to a fox.

“I see you have a low price for these boilers. Are you buying them used?“ The fox asked, tapping a symbol. He could tell because there were transport numbers and the boilers were various sizes and price per BTU.

“That’s right.”

“There is no mention of air emission control equipment,” the fox pointed out. 

“Well, no. The boilers were pulled out of service when the new air regulations started being enforced more rigorously. Now, any company that has them is willing to part with them for little more than scrap value.”

“Yes, I can see that. That’s probably what gave you the idea?” Now the fox looked genuinely interested. That was often a bad sign, when one of their professors started being too helpful, but these students had no idea what a carnivore professor might be like. Maybe they’re just nicer?

The students brightened now. They were finally getting some respect. “That’s right.”

The fox read their body language and decided not to tell them all the reasons it won’t work. ‘This is college and a good place to make mistakes,’ he reminded himself. 

“Yes. Very interesting,” the fox said after another short while. He knew talking too quick made him look like he was not taking sufficient time to think about the project. He would not invest in it, of course, had he been a venture capitalist. Too much could go wrong too easily, and nukes were a proven power generator, with known disadvantages. Coal had been phased out decades ago for various good reasons, including their effect on the climate control system that made Zootopia possible.

“Questions for me?” The fox asked. 

Again, the students just looked at each other, but this time, many refused to meet his eyes.

“This is a place of learning. It may be that I know useful things. Ask. After you get jobs, there will be quid pro quo with any information like this. You are all new, so you will not have much to bargain with for a good while.”

“What is your degree?” One asked.

‘That is what they want to know?’ The fox thought. “I have honorary doctorates in general engineering and physics.”

“No way,” one student said, and several others shifted in their seats. They had been raised to believe they were naturally smarter than predators, and they took it for granted. “But you’re a fox.”

And there it was. Again. Had he not proven his knowledge?

“Yes. I am a fox,” he said, and walked back over to the window.

“He’s not lying,” one student said. “About the doctorates. I’m checking the school database for vulpine instructors. Nicholas Wilde. Honorary doctorates in engineering and physics. Awarded for patent work in those fields.  
Multiple patents in climate control technology. These patents are now controlled by this university.”

“Quid pro quo,” one student whispered.

“But foxes don’t-“ One student started to say, and was silenced by a classmate.

“Mr. Fox?” A new voice said, from the door. It was another student, this one a work-study Nick recognized from Dr. Mueller’s office.

Nick did not reply. It was petty, he knew, but he had enough of this sort of treatment for one day.

The work-study looked right at him and repeated, “Mr. Fox?”

“Dr. Fox,” the fox said.

“Oh. Sorry. Dr. Mueller just said get ‘that fox’ in here.”

“Of course he did. Tell him I will be there shortly.”

The student did not move.

Nick waited. The other students stared from one to the other, uncertain.

“Dr. Mueller kind of…”

“Scares you? I understand. But I have found I get better cooperation when I do not rush to obey. It is odd, but he respects mammals more that give him the right amount of trouble. I found this out by trial and error, and you can too.

“Now, go back and tell him I will be along shortly. He will insult you, but not as much as he would if you continue to stand there and I continue to stand here and he has to come looking for you.”

“Okay,” the work-study said, and left.

“Well. I will just take my leave. It has been…” Now he paused, obviously looking for the best word.

“Interesting?” One student asked.

“Yes, interesting,” the fox said.

“Sir?” One student said, clearly uncertain. ”What about your log in? The smart wall?”

“Oh? That’s not my login ID. Just log off when you’re done.” Then he walked away, and the students waited almost an entire minute before surfing around to see precisely who was logged in and what they might learn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the last one.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote several versions, like usual, and each will have its own chapter.


End file.
